Page 102 of Pretty Lies

EIGHTEEN

JENNIKA’S ever-present sense of entitlement hadn’t been something that really bothered Della before. Then, her friend had to stomp her way into a funeral home and demand to speak with her about that fucking text you sent me this morning.

There was no respect in it.

No decorum.

Della’s mother grieved across the room, and Jennika didn’t give a shit. Chloe was the same woman who had let Jennika sleep in their home every single night that she couldn’t get into her own. Her mom had fed her friend when she needed it; anything Chloe could do to help Jennika, she did it without question.

Jennika didn’t seem to remember those things which should have been the first clue to Della that something was seriously wrong.

She ignored it.

“Why would you do this today of all days?” Della demanded, tempering her tone but still shooting a look at her mother who was now speaking to Mr. Horenstein. While the undertaker had her mother’s attention handled for a second, she put hers back on Jennika. “You really thought right now was the best time for us to have this chat?”

Haggard would be a good description for her friend in that moment. She preferred to call it as it was—Jennika looked a damn mess.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Jennika said. “I just—listen, that message you sent me this morning made me realize we needed to talk.”

Della rolled her eyes, and stepped closer to the black double doors. Outside, her father chatted with Cory. Downstairs, beyond the rows of caskets they still had to pick from for J, was a room where they were currently keeping her brother’s body. Her mother was still trying to decide which picture of her son she wanted to put on keepsake bookmarks that would tell guests at the funeral of J’s life.

And here Jennika was.

Pissed off because of a text.

It couldn’t be more stupid.

That was her friend, though. Before, it used to be something Della liked about Jennika. Something in the girl that reminded her of herself. That selfishness. She once thought selfishness wasn’t really all that different than ambition. Except it was because one was a confidence that was earned, and the other came with pettiness that looked well on no one. Especially not on a woman like her.

What had been a thing that they bonded over had now become something Della hated in her friend. Something she hoped didn’t reflect in her own actions and behavior. She didn’t want to be that woman now.

“You know the world doesn’t revolve around you, right?” Della asked sharply.

Maybe a little too loudly considering her mother and the undertaker looked Della and Jennika’s way. All she needed to see was that line of wetness in Chloe’s eyes. Her stomach twisted into guilty knots because … Jesus.

“Everything okay?” the undertaker asked, his soft voice belying his rather large size. He towered high at over six and a half feet tall, at least. His shoulders were as wide as the doorways. The last thing she wanted was a problem with a man who also dealt with death on a regular basis. In more ways than one, according to her father.

And her mom didn’t need this shit.

At all.

“Yeah,” Della said, plastering a smile on her face. Not that it stopped her mother’s gaze from traveling between the two girls. Chloe wasn’t buying her bullshit, and she didn’t look pleased. Why would she? She was trying to plan her son’s funeral. Fine. They would just take it elsewhere. “We’re going to head downstairs and look at the caskets. You wanted black, right, Ma?”

“Why not?” Jennika asked, clicking her tongue and giving Della a smile. “Let’s find something black to shove in the ground, Dell.”

Jennika used the nickname Luis gave Della—that she hated so very much—far too easily. Her hand twitched to slap Jennika. She’d deserve it. Clearly, her friend was having a moment, and it was something that needed to be dealt with, but she only wanted to make it clear to Jennika that she wasn’t welcome here right now.

Della controlled herself for the whole slapping bit, but just barely.

For now.

“Della,” Chloe called as she and Jennika turned for the hallway, “why not outside instead?”

She didn’t answer her mother.

What did it matter?

“This isn’t the right time,” she told Jennika.